A few li'l things

[vulgarweed]

posted to go100 today. For their "Phobia" challenge. There are actually two phobias in this drabble, only one was required. I'm an overachiever! (I have both of them, a little)

Title: Immersion Therapy
Fandom: Good Omens
Words: 100
Rating: PG
Challenge: Phobia
characters: Crowley and Aziraphale



Now...no. Now? ... no.

They grew corners so fast, hypnotically, and still he hesitated. Aziraphale tried not to think about the terrible things that could happen, his bad balance, vertigo.

(Only the down ones affected him this way.)

He shrieked when he was grabbed and pushed, reeling as he leaned against the steel walls but the rubber hand grip yanked him the other way.

"You should face your fears," Crowley cackled, holding him upright as shoppers laughed.

***

Nine nights later, Aziraphale stroked the contented and sleeping demon's hair gently as he slipped the spider eggs into the pillowcase.




These two were done back in August when bethbethbeth hosted a two-minute-fic challenge: two minutes from the time you see the prompts, which were the titles of books grabbed at random from her shelves. I linked to them here but never actually posted them. Call it archiving.

Fear of Flying
Fandom: Good Omens
Words: 137
Rating: PG for a little gore.



Well, it was a lot of souls dislocated at once. It'd behoove them both to have a look.

The smoking wreckage was scattered for a shockingly large distance.

"I had nothing to do with it!"

"I didn't think you did. But isn't this type..."

"Supposed to be able to fly with one engine? Sure. I still had nothing to do with it."

Crowley seemed surprisingly unfazed by the random smattering of once-human bits. What made him blanch was a look at what had once been the guilty engine, which still showed a few bloody smears of large white feathers around its exploded edges.

Some type of large stork or heron, it seemed.

"Maybe next time I have to go somewhere I ought to get a ticket..."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "It's not going to happen to you."




Remembrance of Things Past
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: 175
Rating: PG for some very creepy and unpleasant slashy suggestion.



Knowledge, bred in the bone. The blood carries it; it's full of magic; the mind and the magic put it to use.

Potions had always come naturally to him. Actually, just about all of it did.

All he'd had from his mother was this knowledge, and it made him who he was, and who he was was something to be reckoned with.

This potion had been one of her favourites: it beckoned to him as soon as he came across it in the Restricted textbook, and the ingredients flew together naturally out of his fingers, and it assumed the proper colour immediately. Of course it would.

Tom Riddle didn't understand love, but that wasn't really what love potions were about, after all. He understood desire and power just fine. And these facts meant that he in fact understood love potions better than just about anyone.

Yes, I think you'll give me what I want, he thought later in the Great Hall as he intently watched Professor Dumbledore at the high table sipping his pumpkin juice.

Comments

[murasaki99.livejournal.com]

Hee-hee! "Eagles fly high, but weasels never get sucked into jet engines." - Crowley is smart. :D

And the HP short - ewwww. Urgh. Serve Master Riddle right if someone totally wrong got that spiked pumpkin juice! 0_0

[ellimayhem.livejournal.com]

Saw this. Thought of you.

http://www.livejournal.com/users/stevietee/559453.html#cutid1

Ahhhhhahahahahaha!